


A Tragedy in Two Parts

by TurninHeads24-7 (TheSenpaiWhoNoticedYou)



Category: Percy Jackson and the Olympians & Related Fandoms - All Media Types, Percy Jackson and the Olympians - Rick Riordan
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Cigarettes, Drinking, Emotional Manipulation, F/F, F/M, Heavy Angst, House Party, Implied/Referenced Cheating, Rejection, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-10
Updated: 2018-12-10
Packaged: 2019-09-15 14:05:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 738
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16934634
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheSenpaiWhoNoticedYou/pseuds/TurninHeads24-7
Summary: Sitting on a brick wall, Annabeth struggles with rejection and with her identity.





	A Tragedy in Two Parts

She's still sitting on this wall, the brick chill cutting through her jeans. She takes a swig of beer, wipes the condensation from her hand onto the dark denim, watches the smoke from her cigarette curl into the dark woods before disappearing into the sky. She is aware of the club behind her in the same way that she is aware of the seven-foot drop under her dangling feet; it’s there but she's not going to fall.

Footsteps on the patio behind her. It’s probably just another couple come to take advantage of one of the picnic tables. She places her beer down on the wall next to her, ignoring them with a forceful drag on the cigarette. Annabeth doesn't smoke.

Piper is suddenly there, on the wall with her, and for a moment she's afraid she's upset the beer can, precariously balanced on the old, crumbly bricks. But no, there it is, safe on her other side. They sit in silence for a moment as Piper contemplates her intertwined fingers and Annabeth continues to watch the dark woods in front of her. She finishes her cigarette, stubs it out, lights another. Annabeth doesn't smoke.

Piper is looking at her now. She can feel her eyes on the side of her head.

“I’m sorry about… I’m sorry.” She does not respond. What response is there? She could tell her she's sorry too, or that the Annabeth isn't sorry and neither is he, so why should she be? Or that he was… is… a bastard, or that inside she's crying but she doesn't cry so… but Piper is speaking again. The cigarette is shaking; highlighted by her apparent verbal incapacity, she can feel Piper's attention focused on it. Annabeth doesn't smoke.

“I hate men.” This said quietly, but with a strange, lightning vehemence that captures Annabeth's full attention instantly. She glances at her sideways with a laugh that might have passed for a cough. It could have been a cough. Annabeth doesn't smoke.

She’s looking at her again, but Annabeth's back in the woods. If she turns her head she will be able to see her eyes and then she will know what she means. But it’s her move in this strange game they’ve been playing, and Annabeth remains still. Feels her look away again. Pass. Piper's disappointment is palpable, and she wonders what she wants from her, why she cares about Annabeth's reaction, or lack thereof. She wonders how much Piper knows. Annabeth makes her own move with a quick flick of the cigarette. Annabeth doesn't smoke.

“I don’t like men,” she says again, even more quietly, if that’s possible. She grunts noncommittally before inhaling another lungful of smoke. The red embers glow violently in the night before fading to dull gray ash. Annabeth doesn't smoke.

“No, I mean it. I really don’t like men.” Louder. She gets her desired response. Annabeth takes the cigarette out of her mouth with the hand previously reserved for beer and looks at her. It’s her turn to look at the woods now. When she turns her head, too suddenly for Annabeth to pretend not to notice, to look away quickly. Their eyes meet, green on dull grey. They both know that Annabeth knows what she means. The next move is hers.

She should say, "Neither do I," and pretend not to know what she means, turn back to the forest and her cigarette. She should say, "Neither do I," and lean in, close her eyes, close the shallow distance between them, close this game. She should leap down seven feet and Piper should follow, and whatever happened then would be between their self-control and their fate.

But she doesn't believe in fate, and Annabeth doesn't smoke.

Annabeth looks away from her. “Don’t we all,” She says ruefully as she stubs her cigarette out. She swings her legs over the wall, starts to leave and turn back. Annabeth does not look at her as she collects her beer from its ledge, downs it, and crushes the can. The metal crumples easily against her hand. She leaves her sitting on the wall as she returns to the glaring lights and pervasive bass booster, to her drunk and currently–conspicuously-cheating-in-a-corner boyfriend. Without taking her eyes off the unabashed gratification in front of her eyes, she sits down on a stool, takes out another cigarette, and asks the bartender for a light. Annabeth doesn't smoke.


End file.
